


Long Distance TLC

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and El are away from Neal on Christmas, but they still manage to take care of him from afar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Distance TLC

**Author's Note:**

  * For [embroiderama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Embroiderama!

Neal coughed into his pillow and then burrowed under the covers, seeking warmth and darkness. On the other half of the bed, Satchmo made a wuffling noise and snuggled closer to him. He wasn’t supposed to be on the bed, but when he’d nosed the door open, Neal hadn’t had the heart to turn him away. He was going to have to change the sheets anyway before Peter and El came back, and he’d take what company he could get. 

The flannel sheets smelled like Peter and Elizabeth, even if his pillowcase didn’t. El had put a clean one on it right before she and Peter had left for the airport and their flight up to Syracuse. Neal snaked an arm out of the covers, searching for his cell phone. They should be landing soon, and they’d said they’d call as soon as they were able.

Neal clutched the phone to his chest and tried not to feel too sorry for himself. He’d understood; after all, he wasn’t _that_ sick, and plans had been in place for months for Peter and El to go to Peter’s parents’ house for Christmas. He was supposed to stay here, take care of Satchmo, and go to June’s on Christmas Day. As it was, though, he didn’t think he’d be going anywhere. 

His phone started vibrating in his hand: _Elizabeth Burke - Cell._ Neal answered it. “Hey,” he mumbled. “How was the flight?”

“Not too bad, considering it’s Christmas Eve,” Elizabeth said. “We’re waiting for our luggage. How are you?”

“Okay,” Neal said. “Could be worse.” He did not say, _I miss you already._ What good would that do?

“Are you warm enough? Did you drink the water I left you?”

“Definitely warm enough,” Neal said. Satchmo was his own personal heater. “I drank the water.”

“You should drink some more. I left you a pitcher on the nightstand.”

“I’m okay.”

“Sweetie, you shouldn’t let yourself get dehydrated. Sit up and pour yourself some water, all right? And it’s time for more Tylenol, too.”

“Oh,” Neal said. “Right.” No wonder he felt so bad. He sat up, put the phone on speaker, and poured himself some more water from the pitcher. His hand shook a little bit, but he managed not to spill any. It felt good on his scratchy throat. He swallowed two Tylenol with it and then slumped back against his pillows.  


"Better?” El said. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Neal replied. 

“Oh, here’s Peter with the luggage. We have to pick up the rental car and head up to the house, but we’ll call when we get there, all right?”

“Okay,” Neal said. He thought about telling them they didn’t have to worry about him so much or call so often, but the truth was that he didn’t have it in him to lie. It felt nice to know they were thinking about him, even if they couldn’t be right there with him. He dozed off, phone in hand, waiting for their next call. 

He was woken an hour or two later when his phone rang again. It was Peter’s cell this time. “Hi,” Neal said, and tried and failed to suppress a cough. 

“You sound like hell,” Peter said. 

“You’re such a charmer.”

Peter ignored his sarcasm. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

Neal struggled vaguely upright and closed his eyes. “I have to pee.”

Peter sounded almost amused as he said, “You should probably do that, then.”

“The bathroom’s really far.”

“Just take it one step at a time,” Peter said. “I’ll stay on the line with you, all right?” There was a pause, and then Peter added, “El says to take the pitcher with you and fill it up in the bathroom so you don’t have to make another trip.”

“Good idea,” Neal said. There was absolutely zero chance he’d have thought of that on his own. He got to his feet and, phone in one hand and pitcher in the other, shuffled into the bathroom. It was colder in there, and Neal immediately started to shiver. Using the toilet and filling up the pitcher took all the energy he had, but thankfully Peter didn’t make him talk. Neither of them said anything until Neal was back in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. “Okay,” he said, then, hoping Peter knew what he meant. 

“Good,” Peter said. “Get some rest, all right? We’ll call again this evening.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, too tired to be anything other than grateful. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

He didn’t expect to hear from them again until after dinner. But only a couple hours later, El texted to remind him to take his next dose of Tylenol and drink another glass of water. Neal dutifully did so and then took a picture of the empty water glass and blister pack of pills to send back to her. 

_Good boy_ , she wrote back, with an emoticon smiley face. _I wish you were here. Peter’s mom is driving me crazy. She keeps reminding me about my biological clock._

Neal winced. Everyone else seemed to have gotten the memo, he remembered El telling him once, but Peter’s mom just never gave up on her pursuit of grandchildren. No matter that Peter’s brother had given her four already. _Drink more wine_ , he suggested. 

_An excellent idea. Talk to you soon. Love you._

_Love you, too_ , Neal wrote back, and fell asleep with the phone on the pillow beside him. 

He didn’t wake again until it rang. By then dark had fallen outside, and he could hear Satchmo pacing back and forth in front of the bedroom door. 

It was Peter this time. “Did I wake you?” he asked, when Neal mumbled his greeting. 

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Satch wants to go out.”

Neal could practically hear Peter frowning through the phone. “You have Satchmo with you? Neal, are you letting him on the bed?”

“No,” Neal lied, badly. 

“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

Peter sighed. “You’ll only give him bad habits. Which, come to think of it, is sort of your specialty. Are you okay to handle the stairs?”

“Yeah, I’ll just go slowly.” Satchmo went ahead, tail wagging, and waited by the back door until Neal caught up with him. He let him out and then went and sat at the dining room table, letting himself slump over. 

“Have you eaten anything?” Peter asked. 

“Not hungry.”

“I know, but you should still eat something. El said she left you chicken soup in the fridge. Why don’t you heat that up?”

It sounded like a lot of work, but Neal didn’t want to argue. He opened the fridge and found eight servings of chicken soup, parceled out and stacked neatly in small Pyrex bowls. He popped one in the microwave, and went to let Satchmo in. Satch beelined for his water bowl, and Neal put some food down for him, grimacing to himself at the smell of wet dog food. 

“Neal?” Peter said, and Neal realized it’d been a little while since he’d said anything. 

“Hi, sorry,” Neal managed. “Soup’s heating.”

“Good,” Peter said. “Listen, I should go - it’s time for the opening of the ceremonial Christmas Eve presents. But we’ll Skype tomorrow morning, all right?”

“That sounds good,” Neal said. “Good night, Peter.”

“Good night, Neal. Merry Christmas.”

Neal put his steaming hot bowl of soup on a small plate, along with a spoon, and carried it upstairs. Satchmo stayed at his side this time, probably hoping for soup, but he didn’t make a nuisance of himself once they were in the bedroom. Neal propped himself up against a nest of pillows and turned on the small bedroom TV. He found _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ on cable and settled in to eat his soup. 

It was delicious. He hadn’t expected to eat all of it, but he watched Charlie Brown and he ate a bite or two of soup, and before he knew it, it was gone. The nightstand was rather crowded, so he put the dishes on the floor. Satchmo immediately hopped off the bed and went to lick his bowl clean.

Neal reached for his phone. _Good soup,_ he texted El. _Thanks._

_No problem_ , she wrote back promptly. _Feeling better?_

_A bit_ , Neal replied, somewhat surprised to find that it wasn’t a lie. He no longer felt as chilled as he had earlier, and his head ached less. 

_Don’t forget to take more Tylenol before you sleep. And more water!_

_I will_ , Neal promised, and wished her a good night. 

He slept long and hard, but since he’d gone to sleep before nine, it was still pretty early when he woke. He lay for a little while, curled beneath the covers. All across the city, he thought, children were waking up and dragging their parents out of bed. Things were probably already bustling at June’s house; several of her grandchildren were young enough that Christmas morning was a big deal, and then there was the big Christmas brunch. Neal had hoped to join them for that, but even though he felt better than he had the night before, he was still far too ill to be around Samantha and her compromised immune system. 

Satchmo nosed at his hand, and Neal reached down to scratch behind his ears. “I’m up, buddy, I’m up,” he said, and rolled out of bed. He wrapped himself in Peter's bathrobe and took his plate and bowl from the night before down with him. Satchmo scampered outside, and Neal stood looking blearily around the kitchen. Peter and El would want to know what he’d eaten for breakfast when they called, and he didn’t want to have to tell them, _Nothing._

The only thing that sounded good was more chicken soup, so he put that in the microwave to heat while he let Satchmo back in and gave him some food. He fetched his laptop from the dining room as well, and when his soup was done he balanced it rather precariously on top of the computer and carried it all upstairs. 

It felt good to climb back into bed. Satchmo hopped up next to him and curled up into an impossibly small, furry ball for such a big dog. Neal turned the laptop on and signed onto Skype, then left it open while he ate his soup and found a _Project Runway_ rerun to stare at.

He was nearly asleep when the computer chimed. He sat up, running a hand through his hair and trying to look at least vaguely well. The picture on the screen resolved itself into Elizabeth and Peter, both of them smiling and still wearing pajamas. “Merry Christmas!” they both said. 

“Merry Christmas,” Neal said, smiling back at them. “How long have you guys been up?”

“Hours,” Peter said with a sigh. “My youngest nephew had the whole house up at six. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Neal said, then sniffled. “Though also grosser. I think we’ve reached the post-nasal drip stage.”

“Well, make sure you keep drinking lots of water,” El said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Neal said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “And I had a bowl of your soup for breakfast. I think it’s curing me.”

“Good,” El said, smiling. 

“So what are your plans for the day?” Neal asked. 

“Not much,” Peter said. “We’ll have brunch, and then my brother and his family were talking about going snowshoeing. But El and I were thinking about going into town to catch a movie.”

“Peter has already reached his kid-limit,” Elizabeth put in.

“Reached it about seven o’clock this morning,” Peter sighed. “They’re cute, but I do prefer them in small doses. Listen,” he added, before Neal could respond. “I know we’re doing presents when we get back tomorrow, but we wanted you to have something to open on Christmas Day. It’s in the drawer of the nightstand on my side of the bed.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. He reached over and pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, there was a small, wrapped package inside. “Peter, you snuck that right past me.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly feeling yourself at the time.” 

“True,” Neal said. He tore the festive wrapping paper off to find a small green box. He pulled the lid off to reveal a gold pocket watch, either vintage or a very good imitation. “Oh,” he said, holding it up by its chain. “That’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Peter picked it out,” El said, smiling. 

_That_ was surprising. Neal looked at Peter. “You did?”

“Well, you like old things, and I saw this in a jeweler’s while I was shopping for El . . .” Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The jeweler said it’d been authenticated as at least a hundred and twenty years old. I thought you might like it. Open it up.”

Neal did. On one side was the expected watch face, and on the other was engraved, _With all our love_ in swirly script. Neal was touched but also a little appalled. “Peter, you didn’t have an antique engraved, did you?” he demanded. 

“No,” Peter said. “That was already there. It’s what sold me on it, actually. But I hope you realize how much we mean it.”

Neal rubbed his thumb over the words. “I know you do,” he said softly. If nothing else, the past twenty-four hours had proven that. They couldn’t be with him, but they’d found ways to take care of him all the same. Without their long distance TLC, he didn’t know what he’d have done.

El glanced off to the side. “Neal, honey, we have to go - Peter’s mom is calling us for brunch. But we’ll talk or text this afternoon.”

Neal nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” they both said, and signed off. 

Neal slipped the pocket watch into the sleeve of his pajamas, where it nestled close to the pulse in his wrist, and then lay down, phone in hand. He didn’t want to miss their next call.

_Fin._


End file.
